


Sangria

by behindtintedglass



Series: Parallel Hearts [1]
Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3868315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/behindtintedglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another dimension, they both know exactly what it tastes like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sangria

_'Every time we talk, you move in close._  
_I don't want you to stop.  
_ _I don't want you to stop, tonight.'_

* * *

Adam looked up as he saw Blake sauntering over to where he was sitting. The country artist noticed the drink he was nursing and smirked.

"My song got to you good, rock star?"

Blake was aiming for their usual casual banter, but Adam remained silent. He couldn't dignify that with a cocky, snarky comeback, not when his blood was still buzzing--half with alcohol and half with the timbre of the smooth, silky song still ringing in his ears.

Instead, locking his gaze with Blake's, Adam lifted the drink to his lips and took a deep, drawn-out sip. His lips smacked as he let out a little sigh, and he couldn't conceal a smirk of his own as the humor faded out of Blake's eyes, to be replaced by something wary.

"Yeah," said Adam as he lowered the wine glass on the counter. "Yeah, it did."

Blake was still looking at him, and Adam felt a prickly sensation crawling up his arms and neck. He thought that the big guy would break the connection by now, but Adam sure as hell would not be the one to look away. He still had his pride, even if that was all he had left.

Finally, Blake tore his gaze away to signal at the bartender. "I'll have what he's having," Blake ordered, tilting his head towards Adam, before settling into the stool beside him.

"If you believe in the theory of multiple dimensions," said the country star without preamble, and Adam blinked at the odd non-sequitur, "There is at least one dimension where it's you I'm singing that song to."

Adam could feel the droplets from the condensation on the glass chilling his fingers, and he fervently wished the rest of him felt equally as numb, instead of shockingly flushed all over, like he was suddenly overtaken by a horrible bout of fever.

"Blake--" he choked out. They weren't supposed to talk about this. They weren't supposed to acknowledge this, _ever_.

"But in this dimension," Blake continued softly, as he ran his thumb over the rim of his glass, and Adam felt his throat go dry as he couldn't help but be arrested by the sight, "Miranda is the light of my life, and Behati means the world to you."

The front man watched with something akin to hunger as Blake raised his own glass to his lips, and his Adam's apple bobbed slowly as he relished the drink searing down his chest. He released the glass with a quiet exhale, and a sheen of red liquid coated his lips, making it glisten under the lights of the bar, and Adam might have forgotten, in that moment, how to breathe.

"And neither of us," Blake finally spoke, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated against the ribs surrounding Adam's hammering heart, "Is capable of infidelity."

With fingers that were steadier than how he actually felt, Adam lifted his own glass and closed his eyes to savor the rich, tangy slide of sweetened liqueur across his tongue, and to escape the piercing gaze of the man beside him, whom he could feel, through the thin cloth of his shirt, was watching him, too.

The bar wasn't crowded at all, but Adam could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead and down his back, like the ghost of questing fingers, making him shiver. Blake was sitting too close and not close enough, and the heat was spreading through Adam's limbs faster than the alcohol.

He gasped out wetly as he realized he had drained his glass, and Adam stared at his reflection in a trance, wondering if in that other dimension, that version of himself was having his fill of a different kind of drink.

The ice cubes chinked and clinked against each other as he replaced the glass on the counter. Blake was still watching him. Waiting.

He suddenly had the urge to laugh, and even to his own ears it sounded hushed and strained, like the sound of a guitar being strummed at the beginning of a sad love song.

Of the many questions swirling around his head like the ice melting in his glass, the one that came out was this: "Why Sangria, though?"

Blake regarded him for a long moment, the corners of his lips curving upward thoughtfully, and Adam ached, down to his bones, with the effort not to touch and feel that smile beneath his fingertips.

"Maybe that version of me in that particular dimension," said Blake as he tipped his head back and took one last sip, "Knows what he's singing about."

He placed the glass on the counter and, with a gentle push of his fingers, slid it over to Adam, who caught it in surprise.

"Taste it again."

Adam blinked as Blake slid off the stool and, with a two-fingered salute and a cheeky wink, left Adam gazing after his plaid-clad back as he sauntered out of the bar.

He stared at the glass in his hand. Adam sealed his lips over the same spot Blake's had marked, and drank.

* * *

_'We fall against the door  
_ _We fall into a wild, warm kiss.'_

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Blake's breathtaking live performance of "Sangria", which was by far the sexiest song I've heard in a long time. Smooth and subtle, rich and elegant, warm and thorough, with a hint of tart and spice--it was sensuality at its best, exactly the way I like my drinks, too.
> 
> I tried to recapture that feeling here, directed, of course, at the sexiest man alive: Adam Levine.


End file.
